Monika is playing soccer. Her team is up five goals to none. The sun is setting and I stand on the sidelines a little way off from the rest of the crowd. My feet are planted firmly on either side of my empty coffee cup, which sits in grass. I’m listening to Bowie on my iPod.
When Monika calls for a sub and comes off the field she sits on the bench with her team. I take the time to pull my eyes away from the game.
I look past the field at the hill. And listen: the air is so still right now that everything beyond the fence at the back of the field could be a painting. All it needs is a “happy little pond” and you could see a white man with an afro, painting it and whispering encouragement to his students. It’s that still. It’s that beautiful.
It’s that cheesy.
I turn off the music.
And listen: it’s so still that the only thing that gives any impression of life is the occasional glimpse of a car, caught briefly though a gap in the trees, coming down from the university. And I almost want to stop breathing and tell everyone to shut up and stand still for a moment. Just so I can have it last a little longer. It’s that perfect. It’s that peaceful.
I need it that bad.
The trunks and branches of the trees are grey-white against the bright leaves and dark needles. Every shape is exactly as it should be, every colour is vivid and exact. And from here, this little spot of grass on the west side of town, I feel better than I’ve felt in a long time.
I know it’s been over a week since I’ve updated. I’m also aware of the fact that the entry on climate change I promised has yet to materialize. I apologise: it sort of morphed in my mind and I need to wait for it to finish its growing pains before I can continue.
Rest assured: when it’s read, it will be written.
In a fit of selfish angst regarding my stalled writing, and as an exercise in pop culture absurdity I entered the question, “What should I do?” into the search field on Wikipedia and hit enter. What came up was the page for humanism. That brightened my day in a sort of bittersweet way. On one hand it seemed like an affirmation of the way I’ve been living my life.
On the other hand, what I was looking for was an indicator as to what I’d been doing wrong.
Alas, if the great e-oracle of our time cannot set me straight then who or what can?
I have to confess: I haven’t tried the other oracle. Y’know, Google.
I’ve finished revisions on three stories: Paint; Hibiscus, Baby and When One Cannot Do Anything Else. I’m going to have my favourite little proofreader, Monika, look at them soon. Then, possibly after a couple more revisions, I’ll be ready to send them off to various literary magazines.
I admit, I’m feeling a little bit of drag on my writing lately. I feel exhausted by the lack of interest I’m getting from a couple of sources. Mind you, it’s not enough to stop me. But I’m slowed-down.
I suppose, because writing means so much to me, that when things seem to stall I take it a little harder than I should.
And listen: here on the soccer field, with the air so still and the moment so perfect, I am calm. Here I feel like I can lie down and breathe so slowly.
I sit in the grass, I kick my legs out in front of me and lean back on my elbows. When Monika goes back into the game I will pay attention. But right now, I’m not part of this world. The one with people and cars and competition and fighting and disasters just waiting to happen.
I’m part of the other world. The one with trees and sunsets and cool evening air so still you can believe nothing will ever change and everything will be alright.
The fourth rule in the Thinking Person’s Guide to Suicide is:
Try to find that moment of perfect stillness and make sure that that is not what you’re looking for.
When Monika calls for a sub and comes off the field she sits on the bench with her team. I take the time to pull my eyes away from the game.
I look past the field at the hill. And listen: the air is so still right now that everything beyond the fence at the back of the field could be a painting. All it needs is a “happy little pond” and you could see a white man with an afro, painting it and whispering encouragement to his students. It’s that still. It’s that beautiful.
It’s that cheesy.
I turn off the music.
And listen: it’s so still that the only thing that gives any impression of life is the occasional glimpse of a car, caught briefly though a gap in the trees, coming down from the university. And I almost want to stop breathing and tell everyone to shut up and stand still for a moment. Just so I can have it last a little longer. It’s that perfect. It’s that peaceful.
I need it that bad.
The trunks and branches of the trees are grey-white against the bright leaves and dark needles. Every shape is exactly as it should be, every colour is vivid and exact. And from here, this little spot of grass on the west side of town, I feel better than I’ve felt in a long time.
I know it’s been over a week since I’ve updated. I’m also aware of the fact that the entry on climate change I promised has yet to materialize. I apologise: it sort of morphed in my mind and I need to wait for it to finish its growing pains before I can continue.
Rest assured: when it’s read, it will be written.
In a fit of selfish angst regarding my stalled writing, and as an exercise in pop culture absurdity I entered the question, “What should I do?” into the search field on Wikipedia and hit enter. What came up was the page for humanism. That brightened my day in a sort of bittersweet way. On one hand it seemed like an affirmation of the way I’ve been living my life.
On the other hand, what I was looking for was an indicator as to what I’d been doing wrong.
Alas, if the great e-oracle of our time cannot set me straight then who or what can?
I have to confess: I haven’t tried the other oracle. Y’know, Google.
I’ve finished revisions on three stories: Paint; Hibiscus, Baby and When One Cannot Do Anything Else. I’m going to have my favourite little proofreader, Monika, look at them soon. Then, possibly after a couple more revisions, I’ll be ready to send them off to various literary magazines.
I admit, I’m feeling a little bit of drag on my writing lately. I feel exhausted by the lack of interest I’m getting from a couple of sources. Mind you, it’s not enough to stop me. But I’m slowed-down.
I suppose, because writing means so much to me, that when things seem to stall I take it a little harder than I should.
And listen: here on the soccer field, with the air so still and the moment so perfect, I am calm. Here I feel like I can lie down and breathe so slowly.
I sit in the grass, I kick my legs out in front of me and lean back on my elbows. When Monika goes back into the game I will pay attention. But right now, I’m not part of this world. The one with people and cars and competition and fighting and disasters just waiting to happen.
I’m part of the other world. The one with trees and sunsets and cool evening air so still you can believe nothing will ever change and everything will be alright.
The fourth rule in the Thinking Person’s Guide to Suicide is:
Try to find that moment of perfect stillness and make sure that that is not what you’re looking for.
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